Creepy parking garages always ruin everything. Write that down.

Last year for Christmas, I bought the Hub tickets to see his favorite comedian. I won't tell you the comedian's name, but he goes by "fluffy". The tickets were for this weekend, and the concert was held at a gorgeous old theater in the downtown area of our small city.

City may be a bit of an exaggeration, but its not a tiny town either. Our downtown area has undergone a lot of revitalization and has become neat and modern in places. However its a work in progress and there are nice areas and literally a block away are older, less nice areas. Its really rather "hit and miss".

So last night we traveled downtown. Given the rare opportunity to dress up, I wore my rarely worn, but absolutely fantastic high heels. (Go girl!) So I asked that the Hub park as close as possible to save my toes. He found a parking garage just a street over from the theater. Awesome.

Now. I hate parking garages. They are dark, creepy, and I feel like the walls and ceiling are closing in on me. Kinda like a tanning bed or as I call it.. a bright, warm, sunburn giving coffin. Anyway, this was an older parking garage, and it felt much "shorter" than normal. By the time we got to the first floor, I had inched down in my seat in order to distance myself from the impending ceiling collapse. Awesome.

The Hub parks, and we walk down to the street. As we walk down, I decide that the old, decrepit parking garage looks rather spooky. Like a zombie attack location or a future crime scene. While I didn't see body outlines there, I decided that perhaps they had been washed off. I mention this to the Hubs and inform him that if we get attacked by zombies or werewolves, I wasn't above disabling him and making a run for it. Its always good to be completely honest in a relationship. Write that down.

We get to the street and walking down the sidewalk we notice two guys. Both were dressed in normal jeans and t-shirt and one had his face painted like he was a groupie for Insane Clown Posse or wanted to be. And. He was barking. Which was odd because he was painted like a bat or a pterodactyl. I didn't stare, lest I encourage him to fly over and chew my neck off. Never stare down potential prehistoric birds. Flying mammals. Pretty much anything prehistoric. Write that down.

We head toward the theater via a disgusting alley. While in the alley we may or may not have witnessed a drug transaction. The alley was also filled with several restaurant workers sitting on milk crates. They all appeared to loathe life and were drowning their sorrows in Mountain Dew and bad tattoos. Definitely looked like a rapey kinda alley. Or at least a mugging kinda alley. I made note of at least three places where Freddy, Michael or Jason could hide. Also, I had decided that I could, if necessary use my high heels as a weapon. Though I really love those heels, so it would have to be a dire emergency. I'm like the McGyver of surviving unrealistic, impossible fantasy attacks. I restated my plan of leaving the Hub behind if necessary. See? Honesty. Awesome.

The best part of the night? Walking back thru the area at 11:30 at night. Yep. Like a boss.

This is an example of the scary parking garage at 11:30 pm.  Except there are less lights.  Broken concrete.  Cracks in the pavement.  Shattered windows.  Ok. This is nothing like the parking garage at 11:30 pm.

So. Here are the takeaways from this story.

One: The Hub really knows how to be romantic.

Two: I now know what its like to be in a b-rated horror movie.

Three: Fluffy was great despite the impending assault or zombie attack awaiting us in the parking garage.
Four: Always be honest with your relationships. Especially facing fictional, unrealistic danger.

Five: There are always weapons to be found if you are creative.

Six: I'm trying out new power words/phrases. This week phrase is "awesome" and "write that down". It's a work in progress.

Write that down.

The clever exclamation mark....

I have a confession.  I have an addiction. Yes!  It’s true.  I tried to hide it from you guys but as it turns out…. It’s rather public already.  So to defeat this obsession and to try to make a go of my life I’m going to try some self-examination and therapy (as you recall, I am ALMOST a doctor…. Just missing the 8 years of education and stuff…Lame!!!!)   Publically on my blog.  Here goes:

I am an abuser of the exclamation mark.  (see above paragraph) Yes.  I love them.  I use them in all kinds of situations.  To over stress the obvious.  To show extreme happiness.  To extreme sadness.  To display my anger at something or someone.  These are often accompanied by a smiley face or a frowny face.  Or my personal favorite… angry face:  >:O! Yes.  I also abuse emoticons.  (Man I have problems). 

I use exclamation points for emails, texts, quirky abbreviations, posts, tweets, air quotes… you name it… I use ‘em.  If we were in the dark ages when typewriters were the only available writing tool, I would have worn out that button… then the number one would be an innocent bystander to the undeserved violent end of said exclamation point.  Oh. The humanity!!!!!

And worse, most of the time, one isn’t enough.  I have to add two, three or fifty-seven.  Sometimes the poor question mark is thrown into the mix.  Yet another inadvertent victim of the abuse.  Apparently I hurt everything around me!  See?!? I just did it again.

I wonder if there is a twelve step program to help with this?  But who would I make amends to? The number 1? The question mark? And what of the ampersand?  Does it need an apology?  I mean, I rarely use it.  And sometimes I use it incorrectly.  Just like all the other punctuation marks. 

Don’t even get me started on the … .  This is used to insinuate a pause in my sentence.  For example:  Uh, Yea……. I did take upper level English in college!…..duh!?!? See? See what I did there…. Both obsessions in one.

For those keeping score:  16 exclamation points.  11 question marks. 42 mostly unnecessary periods.  One angry face. >:O  woops, make that two. 

Hello. My name is Missy, and I have punctuation problems. And sadly, I have hypocritically been guilty of lol-ing.

yea. I got nuthin'.....

It was late at night. The thunderstorm was in full swing. Lightning and thunder alternated creating a chaotic symphony of light and sound. The rain pelted the windows as the wind whipped east then west then east again. The lightning illuminated the room becoming almost blinding each time it hit.

She sat on her bed. Ipad poised. Keypad and blue tooth synchronized - blue light verified that both were working. A blank page was open and her hand hovered over the key board. Her glasses poised on her nose, diet coke beside the table.

Smartphone beside her, open to Evernotes with numerous ideas, both complete and partial listed on her "writing" notes section. Words misspelled, evidence of a hastily written thoughts; most likely quickly typed during the morning drive to work.

She was ready - in every sense to begin writing. Yet. Every idea was a dead end. Nothing seemed to work. She started several sentences only to delete them shortly thereafter. Her thoughts jumbled and oddly blank.

All she could think of was the movie Mean Girls. Why were buses running over people? Was there no speed limit? Doesn't the driver understand the school zone? And why doesn't the driver see this girl? Seriously... what is wrong with me????

Busy saving humanity....

Sorry I haven’t blogged in a while.  I’ve been busy battling undead things.  Yea.  Like in the movies.  Except less bad acting and no leather thigh high boots.

I was in the shower the other morning and I saw a spider.  I hate them almost as much as millipedes.  This was the biggest spider ever.  Like big from that really bad syfy movie with all the pretty people and bad acting where they fight alien bugs.  You know the one - Neil Patrick Harris is like a General or something and Denise Richards almost gets eaten by a huge brain sucking grub-worm looking bug (I think there could be a Charlie Sheen joke in here... but I can't do everything for your people!). Can’t remember it, but this spider made those look like babies. *****UPDATE***** Ok. Maybe it wasn’t quite that big, but it was ginormous.  It looked something like this…..

So with my cat-like reflexes and nerves of steel, I drowned the spider and watched as his lifeless body slowly slid behind one of the thousand shampoo bottles in my shower.  I finish the shower. Yea. It’s how I roll…  I’m like a robotic, professional hitman that way… bug death doesn’t affect me. 

But as I’m shaving my legs, I accidentally knick my ankle. (Definitely a typical day).  And as I’m checking out my injury, a little bit of blood drips to the shower floor.  At that VERY moment, the dead spider (or so I though) washes down to the drop of blood.

Life preserving measures took effect and I immediately recognized it as a vampire spider.  I didn’t take a photo because… well I was in the shower and that’s just weird… but it looked something like this….

FYI: Those would be bloody fangs.  Cuz, you know... the whole vampire thing.

At not even 6 am!  Yea! I know.  I’m sure there is some reasonable explanation about the transformation.  I mean.  I thought I understood the whole vampire rules thing, but now they are shimmering, mixing with werewolves and walkin’ in the sun… I just don’t know anymore. 

So to save myself and all humanity, I beheaded it and finished my shower.  As you know... beheading is the end all be all of killing the undead - everybody knows that - beheading... always go with beheading.  But, yea. I got mad vampire spider slayin’ skillz yo!

So friends, that’s why I’ve been lapse in blogging THIS week.  Someone has to keep you people safe.

***Starship Troopers!  That’s the movie!  Thanks bad syfy movie lovin friend!

Such a loser!!!!

I know, I know.  I’ve been a total loser and haven’t blogged in like forever.  I could tell you that I started a new exercise program which has left me completely drained.  I could tell you that we have had a computer malfunction (not to be confused with a wardrobe malfunction…. Totally not the same thing) or I could tell you that I’ve had bloggers block.  All would be true, but it basically boils down to I’ve been lazy.  You wanna know the best part about having your own blog… yea… you can blog when you want.  So there you have it.  I’ll quit being so losery and do better.  Promise.  Now… on with the wonderful crap written word.

When my alarm went off this morning at the dreadful hour of 6:00 am, the first thought that ran through my mind was “you have got to be kiddin me!”.  Followed immediately by… “is there anyway I could be sick?”.  A quick self-evaluation proved that not the case.  So then I thought “If I don’t put in my contacts, I could stay in bed like three more minutes” and “I wonder how important promptness is to my job”.  Then I decided to quit being a jerk and get up.  But…. I didn’t like it. 

Despite my first thoughts of lying to stay in my warm bed, I got ready in record time and was on the road like five whole minutes early.  See … that whole no contact thing works.  I can’t see the clock, but I’m sure I’m early.

Anyway, my mornings are always rushed.  And the 25 minute drive in to work usually consists of me making sure I’ve done all the necessary things in preparation for work.  The important things like… have my phone.  Put on lipstick.  My shoes match… well, you get the idea.  This morning was no different.  And as I’m sitting at a traffic light, I realize with horror, that I’ve forgotten deodorant.  Well… that stinks. Literally…. (hahah! Get it… stinks.  Ok.  moving on with less 3^rd grade humor.)

No need to panic, my second daughter (who refuses to carry a purse), leaves all kinds of things in my car and I’m positive I’d seen deodorant floating around.  Along with two gloves (neither match and their mate is missing), window scrapers, Tylenol, straw wrappers and a container of grapes (don’t ask).  I know, I know… my car may have the appearance of hotness… but simmer down.  Its all mine!

So the next light I’m digging for the deodorant and not finding it when the guy behind me honks.  Yes.  Honks because he/she has had to wait three nanoseconds at a green light.  Its not like we were three cars back and the car in front of me just started moving and really…how is gaining that second gonna get you there quicker? Whatev!!!!  So I politely wave at them.  No.. not the middle birdy wave, but a “yea. I see you, you impatient  tool … I’m moving… chill out” wave.

About two miles down the road she passes me and slows down to glare before zipping in front of me.  Wow. Mature! So I wave again.  Cuz that’s the polite thing to do, right? 

Just a bit later I catch her at the stoplight. ((it should be pointed out that she made up NO time with her impatience... just saying) She’s in the lane beside me… her anger of my irresponsibility is long gone, because she’s searching for her lighter in her purse.  At the green light.  Four cars behind her… none are happy. And one honked Yea. 

So that’s my story for today. I made it to work early.  And have deodorant in my desk – at least I hope it was deodorant… cuz I can’t see anything. 

Why I'm always tired... -or- Why I should not be left alone to care for the children

Until now, most of my blogs have been about my current crazy life.  However in looking back, it appears I’ve always been a tad crazy unique whatever.

So I thought you would like to hear a story from several years ago.  And it’s not so much that you would like it as much as it’s my blog. So ha!

My little one was about two years old at the time.  She was in a front facing car seat.  And by "in" I mean when she chose to stay "in" it.  She had become quite the escape artist. No joke, I had to pull the car over numerous times to wrangle her back into the seat. 

So one morning I had to take her to the babysitter and the dog had an appointment at the groomer.  So I put the dog in the car.  The Scottish terrier did not like anyone or anything, but he did appreciate a good car ride.  He would jump between the front and back seats and the side windows checking out the view.  Leaving nose prints on the windows.  Yea...That’s how I roll.

I get Stinker buckled into her car seat and it looks like we are good to go.  Then I realize I had forgotten something in the house.  I am quite certain I growled, but jumped out to retrieve said item, and yes... you guessed it. I somehow locked the keys in the car.  With baby and dog in the car.

Now the weather was not cold or hot, and we were in the garage.  The car was not running, so there was no imminent danger. As a matter of fact Stinker was thrilled to be in the car with the dog... she was smiling and pointing to him, laughing. Not unhappy or scared. The dog was happy... he was going for a ride. Front of the car, back of the car. Front of the car, back of the car. Left, right, left, right... he was thrilled.  Apparently I was the only unhappy person. 

So the Hub was about twenty or so minutes away, and once I had him headed to the rescue, I decided that perhaps the dog’s hypernes could help me. I’m like a domestic MacGyver that way.  So I tried to persuade him to jump to my window thinking he would step on the unlock button.  Yea.  He didn't understand why I wasn't in the car with him.  After two minutes of me calling him, clapping my hands and tapping the window he decided this was not gonna work for him and he curled up in the back seat to pout.  So now he was ticked at me. Great!  Hub was not happy and now the dog is ticked.  Oh… and I’m not happy!  GREAT morning!

Well, Houdini junior was in the back seat, still smiling and waving at me….my antics with the dog had been super entertaining for her. In another MacGyver moment of genius, I think that maybe I could get her to wiggle out of her car seat and unlock a door.  The child had escaped almost daily for a week... this should be no problem. Yea.  Sure… nothing wrong with this theory.

So I’m talking calmly to her telling her to get out of her seat. I’m using my baby voice and wiggling my shoulders as a demonstration to mimicking her escape. She finds this hilarious.  I'm pointing to the button saying "push the button, push the button, honey" and she shows me her belly button.  Ok, cute but ineffective. She's giggling and laughing but NOT getting out of the car seat. Sure.  Going 70 down the highway she can worm out and hug my neck, but no... When I need her to help me out she's behaved.

At one point a neighbor drove by to stare at me hopping around in the garage, talking to a seemingly empty car. “Move along, nothing to see here”. Its no wonder our neighbors don't talk to us.

The end of the story is that the Hub came and unlocked the door. The dog was happy on the car ride, but very disappointed to find himself at the groomer. Turns out he's a wall hugger.  And Stinker wormed her way out of the car seat before we got out of the neighborhood.  It’s no wonder I’m exhausted.

Fail to plan or plan to fail... or some crap

So a really good friend and I went to the opening night of the new Underworld movie. For weeks, we have looked forward to this movie.  Having seen the pervious movies several times, believing that we too could be ultimate vampire hunters, and wishfully thinking we can fit into all that black leather, the day could not have come quick enough.  My friend picked the theater with the big screen.  After having experienced this theater, during a recent Twilight fiasco that left us sitting on the front row. Where I got motion sick. Twice.  I was understandably cautious. So, I knew we needed a strategy. 

See, I am a bit, somewhat, a lot OCD, and like to go into a situation with a plan. Much like Selene, (and the boy scouts) I am always prepared.

I like having the who, what, when, where and how lined out so that there are no surprises (like sitting on the front row with the 20 year old girl talking NONSTOP during the movie, and crying when Bella “dies” Seriously, there’s another movie!  Did you NOT read the book??)  Ok.  So. I wanted to see Selena on my terms. Which was NOT the front row with the slobbering chick.

So, convinced that we needed to get to the theater early and wait in line for seats, the drive to the theater consisted of me planning our seating strategy.  When you fail to plan, you plan to fail.  I was ready.  I shared the Twilight puke fest with my friend, and rolled up my sleeves.

We get there and I ask the attendant how many tickets had been sold for our movie.  She looks and says.  “I’ve sold 7”.  What?!?! NO WAY!  Well, clearly the people seeing this movie on opening night are superior and have gotten their tickets online or at the kiosk.  OR used a different attendant.  Or perhaps this attendant is lying, not knowing about the Twilight craziness. 

I was deterred but not fooled.  I continued the original plan.  My friend wanted to go eat.  A hurdle…Ok.  Well if we hurry, we can do that, but we gotta hurry.  Of course we were running later than I wanted, so I had to reassess the insanity plan of action.

On the drive back to the theater, I am in strategy mode.  If I were five, I would have ran into the theater, knocking people down and grabbed the first available seat then demanded popcorn. But people frown upon an adult woman running around like a five year old, so I had to be mature.  Dang it!  So being a great planner (read: OCD)  I mapped out the best route:  We would go get our seats then take turns getting snacks. 

By the time we got to the theater, my friend was feeling my anxiety and was agreeing to my crazy plan.  Apparently crazy is contagious.  Or it’s a lot like Stockholm syndrome without the whole kidnap and torture thing.  She was all jittery and ready to knock out (in a Selene like fashion) anyone who got in our way.

I distinctly remember thinking and possibly saying over and over “I can’t sit up front… I just can’t” as we literally raced to the theater, opened the door, rushed down the aisle.  Totally prepared to threaten teenagers to give up their seats or fake an Lycan emergency, we looked up and found….

A theater filled with twenty people.  Yea.  Turns out, all the Underworld fans went to another theater.

So, we’ll chalk this one up to the egocentric, obsessive compulsive!  Yea.  My poor friend will never go to another movie opening with me again.

The perfect storm. Not just about bad weather conditions!

So there’s a chance that I have short term memory loss.  No really.  I can’t remember anything anymore.  But that’s not the big problem.  Along with my well documented ADD and my secret procrastination this short term memory loss (or STML, as the cool chicks say) is like the perfect storm of insanity. Three ailments you do not want to have in tandem is STML, ADD and procrastination.  Because what happens is you postpone things, get distracted, then forget about them.  This is why my Pulitzer prize winning novel has yet to be written…. Well, not the only reason, but it contributes! 

So given my sad mental state, I’ve taken to using sticky notes every time I need to remember things.  They are stuck everywhere.  I write down things like refill a prescription, send an email on that project at work, pick up kids, never go out on black Friday.  Clearly the post it notes are not a fail-safe.  I also have taken to using my cell phone to make to do lists and write down ideas that I want to blog about.  My notes section of my phone will have little phrases or ideas that don’t really go anywhere, but I fear if left in my head… will disappear.

So after last weeks’ phone incident, I’ve been trying to remember some of the ideas I had lost.  And some of my best thinkin’ time is when I drive.  Who needs to worry about traffic and road conditions when I’m thinking of blogging, vampires and wondering who sings that song on the radio.  However, a recent conversation with my daughter revealed that I am not a good driver when texting.  Something about “all over the road and driving five miles an hour”.  Whateve… hater.  But in an effort to set good example, I’m trying to NOT text and drive.  Basically I don’t want to be THE reason they change the law from teens who text and drive to adults who text and driving.

Fast forward to today. In an effort to be all “safe” and crap, new phone in hand, driving home, I heard a song that I need those teenagers to download to my Ipod.  While at a stop light, I bring up my “notes” app and hit the voice recognition button.  At this point, I am completely convinced that my new phone will not give me the problems that the lase one did.  (see here) Into the phone I speak “THREE DAYS GRACE - BREAK” (and no, I didn’t YELL it) and after what seems like three days (ha, get it... three days), the phone shows “crab grass”.  Yes.  Crab grass.  I’m no music expert, but I’m pretty sure Three Days Grace does not have a song called crab grass.  Although it might be kinda cool….

Then I realize that it would be a great blog topic… this whole STML and the new phone.  At the next stop light (yes, at a stop light) I enter a new “note” and say “crab grass”.  Yea.  It didn’t even recognize the phrase. The phrase it just typed for me.  It just gave me the circle of death “thinking” mode.  Then came up empty.

And so it begins... again.  The love/hate relationship with voice recognition. I had such high hopes for the new phone with its fancy new technology. So sad. Wanna know how I managed to remember the story, given my recently discovered disability?  Yea… I was like two minutes from the house and I repeated it in my head like 10 times and nothing new and shiny came into my line of vision.    

Do you think I can get meds for this? Do you think a doctor would even talk to me?

Why I can start all over with Angry Birds...

Good news: I get to start all over with Angry Birds.  Bad News: I lost about three hours of my life....

So this year I went Black Friday shopping.  Which isn’t really accurate because I went on Thursday night… so technically it wasn’t Friday… although it felt very “black”.  Anyway, normally I would never-ever-ever-never participate in the weirdness.  I mean, Wal-Mart is crazy enough on a normal day let alone on a day that people use pepper spray to get sale items. But there was a gift that we needed and it was really a good sale.  Plus I do love a challenge, need blogging material, so Bugz and I trudged out at 9:45 to Wal-Mart in search of the item. 

Thinking we needed caffeine to make it through the madness (caffeine being a proven deterrent for being trampled), we drove to the local McDonalds only to find that it was not open.  Seriously. Wasn’t open.  That stupid clown cashes in on every loose penny available and hasn’t figured out Black Friday shopping is a gold mine! Whateve!

So sans coffee, we tentatively drove to the store where the only description applicable is utter, mass chaos.  We parked two parking lots away and made it to the back of the store with only getting blasted twice. I witnessed not one but two instances where watching piranhas fight over a wildebeest looked civilized.

We finally found the item we were looking for and we had just under two hours to wait for it to go on sale.  It’s kinda like a police stakeout except without a comfortable car, coffee and guns.  Oh… and we were in Wal-Mart.  I won’t go into the boring details; I’ll just give you this: We waited.  In a make-shift “line” that wove through the women’s underwear isle. With a ticket which guaranteed we got the item, but only if we did not leave said “line” – not even for a potty break.  Leo, aka the line Nazi, said he’d give me a break on the potty thing lest I lose my spot and have to forfeit my golden ticket.  Which wasn’t golden or a ticket, unless you count a white piece of typing paper with some numbers on it a ticket.   However, Leo would also not answer my question as to why; if we had a “guarantee” ticket did we have to wait for midnight.  Nor would Leo accept a bribe to let me get the item and go home to my warm bed.  Leo sucked.

Because I’m always optimistic and sunshiny (shut up, I am dangit!), I try to always learn from my experiences and share with you folks.  I am a giver. So here are a few things I learned whilst Black Friday shopping:

·         Just because its 10:00 pm, does not give you the automatic right to wear pajama pants out in public.  No, not even holiday ones with Garfield in a Santa hat. And no spandex granny…Ever!

·         If you are bold enough to get a scooter from the front of the store, at least look like you need it.  Do not hop off, dart down the aisle, grab the last Lego set from spandexed granny, jump back on the scooter and peal out on two wheels to the next sales rack.

·         Just because we wait in line together for two hours does not mean I want to know your life story, what you are purchasing, and why you are purchasing it.  You should also know that we may be line neighbors, but I will not spare you a trampling if you get in my way.

·         Turns out that whole crowd mentality thing… truth.  I could barely control the urge to rush up and start grabbing ugly photo frames when the sales began simply because the other gazillion people were grabbing them. 

·         There is surprisingly little to do while waiting in line in the women’s underwear aisle.  I know, shocking!  And apparently Wal-Mart frowns upon getting a sleeping bag from the camping aisle, a microwave from housewares and making up some popcorn for the wait. Given that attitude, I didn’t even bother asking about the tv, blue ray and a movie. 

·         I believe I could be the pepper spray lady if given the right deal.  No really.  Everyone’s all outraged but probably because she thought of it first. 

·         Its good to have a skinny daughter with you.  She can squeeze through tight spaces and save you some spots in line – or under the aisle if necessary. (don’t ask).

·         And finally, hear me now peeps.  If you drop your smart phone on the concrete floor in Wal-Mart, at midnight on Black Friday.  It will break.  And every time this happens, somewhere a Christmas angel chokes on eggnog.

The good news is that with the new phone, I was able to replay all of the angry birds games!  It almost makes up for losing EVERYTHING else. J

Guess what? I'm going to Hawaii.....ok, maybe not. Stupid morals!

So last week I posted about my on-going struggle with finding blog topics.  I blamed my ADD, my new book series and a new tv show as the reason for this lack of inspiration.  Plus Walking Dead is back on, and it’s so hard to concentrate on blogging when Rick and the gang are running from zombies.  Anyway, turns out none of those things are the demise of my creativity.  Yep.  None. Zero. Zilch. Nada.  Turns out my whole family, fearing being the topic of a post, had basically cut me off from their normal shenanigans.  Yes, friends… it’s true.  They are stifling my creativity. Bunch of phonies! 

Which is actually kinda funny, because I’ll just make up stuff that they say or do… I have to qualms about that. It’s like they don’t know me.  AT. ALL!

But because I am nothing if not devoted to you my fellow readers – all five of you – I have fought through the ADD that is me and pulled this out for you.  This is an email exchange between me and the hubs after a friend posted her vacation pics on facebook.  Or… this could be a total fabrication of my mind.  See, it’s like a murder mystery without death or gratuitous nude scenes. 

Me: I want to go to Hawaii.

Hubs: So go.

Me: I want you to go with me… hello?  And I want to zip line while we are there.  After we helicopter over the volcanoes, go see those dolphins, and attend at least two dinners where those people dance.

Hubs: What people?

Me: The dancers.  You know, the barefeet, flower necklaces…. The dancers.

Hubs: You mean hula dancers?

Me: Yea. that’s it.  I want to be entertained while eating weird food.  Hula dancers.  Wait.  Is that the proper term? That’s not derogatory is it?  Maybe its hula peoples?  Hula folk? Anyway, that’s what I want to see.  Done.

Hubs: Well you just figure out where the money comes from and off we go.

Me: Are you opposed to selling yourself for additional income?

Hubs: yes.

Me: Cocaine mule?

Hubs: That’s just rude.

Me: It’s not rude.  I just need to know how badly you want me to go to Hawaii.  Clearly by your response, not very much.

So.  The take-away here is that the Hubs isn’t willing to do anything illegal to get me to Hawaii, I don’t need to observe shenanigans to blog about it, and I really should stop watching so much tv. Oh, and clearly my ADD has now reached need-professional-help level.  Well.  That’s just GGGGGGGGGGGGGGreat!

The post will confirm that I do indeed need a padded room!

I’ve been having a bit of trouble with motivation lately.  I’m not sure if it’s my ADD, aliens, the new series American Horror or if there’s something wrong with me (I do not need your opinions on this last one).  Normally, I have all kinds of ideas on blogging, and oftentimes can’t type quick enough for my brain to process them, however the last week or so I’ve had bits and pieces run through my head, but nothing I could expand on.  Well, nothing that you would find interesting.  Unless of course I can interest you in a post on why I wish there were ghosts that would do the laundry and clean house or how long is too long to leave your moldy, decaying Halloween pumpkins out.  Or maybe you’d like the post on how I find men who wear fedora hats creepy or how I spent an hour wondering if David Hasselhoff had plastic surgery and if so, what kind. At any rate, you can see how I’m low on motivation.  So I decided that I would make this post just about the bits and pieces that occur to me.

For some reason, the Ghostbuster theme music has been playing through my head.  I have NO idea why, but seriously it is.  Like all day today.  Yet, I have no one to call for this little emergency. Hmmmm….

I’ve been reading a book series that I CANNOT put down.  Seriously, I can’t put it down.  Message me and I’ll give you the details, but trust me it is GOOD!  So good, in fact, that I blame it for my lack of motivation.  Seriously, it’s ruining my ability to do anything.  It’s like when I went through that mild depression after reading the Twilight series.  I was actually depressed that I Bella, Edward and Jacob were going to live out their immortal lives without me!  Anyway, the new series is about vampires, werewolves and zombies.  Now I have decided I want a were-panther as a pet. 

The other day in a meeting, as I was trying to look interested, I found myself smack-dab in the middle of an Ally McBeal moment.  Not the creepy dancing baby… that was just way weird.  In this moment, I envisioned hopping up on the desk and taking out everyone else in the room.  It was a brief moment, but it helped me focus on the meeting… ok… not really, but it was kinda fun.

creepy dancing baby.... eek!

Then to top it off, yesterday the Hubs and I were attacked my mothra in our own home!  Yes.  This huge moth kept dive bombing us.  I think it was attracted to my awesomeness, but I can’t have that kinda disrespect in my own home, so mothra was destroyed.  Gotta set the tone, yo!

So I guess what I’m saying here is that if you don’t think I need my own padded room right now, should possible check yourselves.

On the road again... yea... I now it's cliche, but it's my blog... so there!

Last weekend, the hubs and I went to Memphis for a nice, romantic weekend.  Given that all of our time, money and sanity is tied up in travel softball, this weekend was meant to be romantic and relaxing.  And by romantic and relaxing, I mean kid-free, eating my weight in fried food and bisKITS… oh… the biskits…., and sleeping in. 

Memphis is about a five hour drive and the majority of that is through Arkansas and way Southern Missouri.  So for our traveling pleasure entertainment  mind-numbing boredom, we enjoyed unbelievably curvy roads (I tend to get car sick, so I was Dramamined up), lots of farm land, and small – let’s call them interesting – towns. 

Given that it’s nearing Halloween, I’m all alert for zombies and werewolves.  I mean… you can’t be too careful these days.  And given that we were deep in Redneck  hillbilly Ozarks country… there’s always the chance of redneck zombies.  Almost an oxymoron there… but you get the idea.  Sidenote:  Would one be able to tell the difference between a traditional zombie and a redneck zombie?  Something to ponder later. 

We pulled into a small town to use the rest room.  It was our second stop… apparently I forgot to pack my adult-sized bladder.  The place we stopped was our only option.  I know you are thinking that it must have been simply lovely and quaint.  You would be incorrect.  First off, the “gas station” (with only four gas pumps, I wasn’t positive it qualified for a “station”) was also the town grocery store.  So walking in there were isles of food, toilet paper and oddly a corner section of electronic casino machines.  Yea… no I don’t get it either.

Perhaps it was the Dramamine induced stupor or that I really had to tinkle, but I took in the odd sight with amazement as I was dashing toward the wood paneled doors marked restrooms/store room.  Yes.  The bathrooms were in the storage room.  No time to ponder who thought wood paneling would be THE best look for a grocery store/gas station… but whateve!  As I’m taking in the instant weirdness, I notice that three deer hunter men-folk were perched at the “casino” corner.  More so, I noticed that they were noticing me.  I couldn’t decide if they were indeed redneck zombies who were looking to munch on my brain… or if they wanted to take me home to meet their mamas.  I choose to believe it was the zombie thing, because I’m sure my brain is irresistible to the redneck zombie.  I have no proof to base this on… just a hunch. 

I flashed back to the movie Deliverance and wondered where the hubs was.  Oh… he found the candy isle.  Ok.  I caught him, asked him to wait in the store room for me to finish before he left.  Not sure if it was for him to protect me or vice versa.  Anyway, we exited the grocery store/gas station unharmed.  I like to think my evil eye, threatening zombie-watch-out look that protected us, because they let us leave unharmed or unbitten.  Whew!

As Willie Nelson as I’ll ever be… we were on the road again.  Speaking of Willie Nelson (and I don’t often)… there needs to be a compromise with radio stations between here and there… some channel that isn’t gangsta rap and country/western!  Yes… I mean country/western.  Barbara Mandrell anyone? Ok then!

Anyway.  since we barely made it out of that town alive… overexagerate? Who me?  I really tried to NOT have to stop again.  So I needed entertainment.  Because some road engineer thought the roads should mimic a coiled rattlesnake, I couldn’t read in the car (well, I could, but not without barfing.  Barfing might damper the romantic weekend).  The radio situation was less than desirable (aka crap!).  My ipod was dead.  The hubs was on the phone, so I had to entertain myself by looking out the window.  Hmmm… cotton field, cotton field, horse, cotton field, old barn, a few trees, cotton field, mobile tattoo parlor, cotton field … wait … what?!

Yes.  Some entrepreneur had created a mobile tattoo parlor from an old converted ambulance.  I didn’t even know you could buy old ambulances… wait, who would buy old ambulances…. Oh, right… mobile tattoo businessmen!  I squealed in delight, the Hubs nearly dropped the phone in fright and I promptly asked if we could stop and get matching tattoos.  What would be more romantic?  Well, Hepatitis C… that’s what.  Ok.  Point taken. And here I am, sans-tetanus shot! Dang it!!!  But still… I could have my picture taken by it! But no. The hubs is always cautious around rednecks, possible mobile meth labs and fields as far as the eye could see, so we continued on. I pouted a little… maybe a lot.  *sigh*

Well, he might damper my fun, but I won’t let him deny you guys.  Since I was so shocked that I couldn’t find my camera on the way down, I thought I would try to remember on the way back. Then on the way back I was in a Dramamine fog/sleep/high and missed it… again.  So you’ll just have to take my word on it.  It was a thing of beauty. 

But I won’t be deterred.  I couldn’t deny you the amazement…. I decided to draw you a picture of it… using my mad drawin’ skillz, yo!

Bask in its beauty my friends!

P.S.  Oh.  And we had a wonderful time, ate amazing food, saw the Broadway show Memphis! (it was excellent), and overall had an awesome weekend… of course the mobile tattoo parlor was the best…but what could top a mobile tattoo parlor? 

Another public service.... the more you know...

Halloween is just around the corner, and this is THE best tv watchin time of the year.  Oh, yes... the Christmas holidays always have great heart warming shows, and I do love the new fall season.  However, this is the season of horror movies.  And lots of them. Good, Bad, Stupid.  Great entertainment.  So I've definitely been enjoying the season. And because I'm nothing if not observant (shut up!), I've discovered their secret.  Oh... men have searched for it for years, and I... I have found it.

The secret to all horror movies.

Yes, indeed I have found the secret to all horror movies.  It doesn’t matter the circumstance or the evil foe.  It doesn’t matter location or solution needed.  Vampires, Zombies, Werewolves, Evil Entities, Haunted Houses, Aliens you name it. They all have one common denominator. 

Stupid people.

You have to have a stupid person (or two) in every movie.  You have to have the stupid person to go back into the house.  You have to have the stupid person to try to rescue others.  You have to have the stupid person who says things like “It’s gonna be ok.  All we need to do is wait right here.” Or “It’s just a little bite” or my personal favorite “I don’t think they want to hurt us, let’s just go see what they want.”

So I’ve come up with a top 10 list of things that will help the stupid survive: 

1.       If that old house you just moved into tells you to leave.  Seriously, leave.  Nothing good will come from a talking house. Ever. 

2.       The dude covered in blood is probably the killer.  So don’t trust him.  Especially if he has crazy eyes.

3.       If your buddy comes back with any bite marks.  Yea, he’s gonna turn into something.  Vampire, zombie, werewolf… you the idea.  Probably shouldn’t hang with him.

4.       When all your friends have disappeared, don’t go looking for them.  You are the next victim… seriously, get out a Dodge!

5.       If the creepy neighbor seems weird to you.  He is.  Keep away!  And never “invite” him over…. Seriously, find a non-creepy friend!

6.       If weird stuff is going on in your town, there’s no need to go investigate it.  Really, curiosity didn’t kill the complacent, couch potato cat. It killed the nosey, busy-body cat.

7.       Get a real weapon.  Knives, swords, guns.  And always go for the head.  Beheading kills most scary movie villains.  Think about it.  Vampires, werewolves, zombies… yep... can’t hurt you with no head.  I bet Jason, Freddy and Michael wouldn’t have made a billion sequels with no head.  Just sayin’.

8.       If any animals go all crazy on you, remember they are still animals.  Sharks can’t live on land no matter how smart they are.  Hello? Common sense… don’t get in the water! For further advice on animals, read this post.

9.       Don’t be slutty.  The slutty girls always get killed first.  Fact.

10.   Don’t be stupid.  Seriously, it IS that simple.

So now if you ever find yourself in a scary movie, you will not be one of the early casualties.  More face time!

Heavy breathing.... now you know where it began... kids Halloween masks

Long, long ago, in a town far, far away, your friendly neighborhood blogger was a little girl.  And a cute one at that! 

One of my first memories of Halloween was about age 3 or 4 when I dressed in a cute princess costume and collected candy from the neighbors.  Way back when… the costumes were much simpler.  My princess costume was a blue plastic “dress”, complete with a full hard-plastic mask with eye and nose holes and a small mouth hole (which I cut my tongue on because it was waaaay too tempting to poke my tongue through).  The mask rested completely over my face and was attached with an elastic cord that was too tight.  Always… too tight or too loose. The masks were not good.  You couldn’t see thru it, when you exhaled it fogged up the inside and made your face sticky, and sounded like a big heavy-breathing monster was following you.  So why not send the little kiddies out in the dark, further obstruct their vision and breathing.  Oh… and let’s dress them in some kindling and send them to the home of strangers where they can stumble onto porches filled with open flames to beg for candy. So the question here is really … did our parents realize this or did they just not care?  Best not to poke that sleeping monster now…

On a side note, I find it mildly greatly disturbing that in order to find this example, I had to Google “vintage” Halloween mask. Vintage… seriously? 

I was led around the neighborhood where I collected a lot of candy.  (told you I was cute).  Mrs. Stevenson (not her real name…. I’m protecting her identity.  No, it’s not that I can’t remember her name… ok, yes it is) was known for her flavored popcorn balls. Because she was friends with my grandparents, she always gave me two popcorn balls AND a full-sized candy bar.  See, this narcissistic behavior is not all my fault.  Ok, yes it is. 

There was nothing better than going out with pre-teen friends trying to be “big” kids, braving the haunted house.  There were never enough street lights to take care of all those shadows.  For someone with a very vivid imagination…. It was both terrifying and thrilling to run around our small town on the most terrifying night ever.

As I grew older, my Halloween fun morphed from candy collecting to other, less savory behavior.  Because our town’s teenagers were known for their “fun” pranks, our high school clubs sold Halloween Insurance to local businesses to raise money –genius idea, really.  For minimal cashola, any shenanigans that occurred to a business’ storefront on All Hallows Eve was promptly cleaned up early the next day by very tired and grumpy band geeks.  So clearly it was our duty to use soap, shaving cream, and toilet paper and toss eggs and raw biscuits (don’t ask) all in the name of fundraising.  Gotta support the team! 

Consequently I have very fond memories of Halloween which I have tried to pass on to my girls… sans the vandalism.   (Turns out I did NOT do a good job with one daughter in that department, more on that in a later post). The Hubs does not share my love of zombie, werewolf, or vampire nor does he appreciate the pure magic of tossing an egg at someone so this job is all mine.  And I take the Halloween learnin’ very seriously. 

We carve very cool pumpkins at my house – no boring jack-o-lantern faces will do.  We make caramel apples, roast pumpkin seeds and I’ve decorated my garage in black trash bags for a dozen young basketball girls.  The light on the garage motor is still green to this day. 

I have purchased more fake spider webs, mums and pumpkins than you can imagine.  But I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.  So fast forward to 2011. 

Yesterday, I had the rare occurrence of having all three girls with me AND I had some free time. If you have teens, you understand just how rare this is.  Stinker had been asking for her Halloween costume for like a year now, so I stopped into one of those temporary Halloween stores.  You know the ones that take over the old Blockbuster for the month of October.  As I’m pulling into the store, I’m telling the girlies how fun Halloween was and the appropriate way to toss a raw biscuit.  (They only rolled their eyes a little). 

So I was quite shocked when I walked into the store.  Halloween is definitely different.  Maybe it was because I’m feeling old nostalgic that I hadn’t notice this transformation before.  The fun, non-flame retardant costumes of the olden days (shut up, I’m not THAT old… ok, yes I am) have been replaced by freak-me-out scary costumes, life-size figures that talk and move, and hussy girl costumes.  Exactly how do you make a fairy princess costume for a 6 year old horribly inappropriate?  …. Ah yes.  Fish net stockings.

Now don’t get me wrong.  This gal loves her some zombies and scary stuff…. But these were even a bit much for me.  There was an entire isle – like a long isle - of severed hands.  How many severed hands does one need? 

Yes.  As if clowns weren't creep enough... now there are zombie clown babies!  Kramer would be so  freaked right now!!!

He's blurry because he was moving.... probably trying to kill me in the store!

Yes.  Creepy zombie baby is eating his foot.

Ok.  Aside from the fact that someone would actually buy the exorcist doll.... where would one store this gal in the off-season?  Seriously... would she sit in the corner of the garage?  eeeekkkk!!!!

Send me comments on here or on the book of Face about your favorite Halloween memories.  What disturbs you about the new fangled Halloween?  You know I like attention… send me comments dang it! Which reminds me.... go and like my Facebook page. (or I'll sic creepy foot eatin' zombie baby on you!)